The grand arena of the Tournament of Clans loomed over the horizon like a colossal monument to the legacies of Ivay's great clans. Its towering walls, carved from white stone and etched with symbols of the clans, shimmered under the midday sun. Inside, thousands of spectators filled the seats, their voices merging into a thunderous roar.
Rytha stood among the contestants in the preparation hall, his heart racing. He was now twelve, lean and wiry from years of grueling training under Oshi's strict guidance. Yet, despite his physical readiness, the sight of the grand arena overwhelmed him. He adjusted the plain robes Oshi had given him—a stark contrast to the ornate outfits of the other participants.
For years, Rytha had longed for this moment, not for glory, but for a chance to see his mother. Memories of her warm embrace haunted him. She was the anchor that had kept him going during the harshest days. Now, as the tournament began, he scanned the sea of faces in the crowd, hoping to spot her.
Instead, his eyes locked onto someone else—Tensen.
The clan head of the Shirohaga Clan stood in the royal box, his imposing presence undeniable. Dressed in his clan's ceremonial armor, Tensen surveyed the arena with a cold expression. Rytha's heart sank. The father who had cast him aside had not even glanced in his direction.
"Hey, look at this one," a mocking voice broke through his thoughts.
Rytha turned to see a group of boys and girls from the Zorrak and Wasabi Clans approaching. Their finely crafted robes and confident smirks set them apart. One of the boys, tall and pale with sharp features, sneered.
"Isn't he the one from the Mandren? The one without magic?"
Another boy chimed in, his voice dripping with scorn. "I heard he's only here because they felt sorry for him. What's he going to do, swing a stick around?"
Rytha clenched his fists but stayed silent. Oshi's teachings echoed in his mind: "A sword doesn't speak until it strikes."
One of the Zorrak girls leaned closer, her dark eyes glinting with malice. "Better not cry when you lose, little boy."
Before they could say more, a booming voice filled the air.
"Contestants, to the arena!"
---
The first match was between two boys: Yun of the Wasabi Clan and Kael of the Zorrak Clan. The crowd erupted as they stepped into the circular fighting pit, their clan banners unfurled behind them.
Yun, a lithe boy with short silver hair, bowed gracefully to his opponent. His Wasabi heritage was evident in the faint shimmer around his body, a sign of his clan's shape-shifting abilities. Kael, on the other hand, moved like a predator, his dark cloak billowing around him as he unsheathed twin daggers.
The referee's voice echoed. "Begin!"
Kael was the first to strike. He dashed forward, his daggers flashing like lightning. Yun dodged with ease, his movements fluid and precise. The audience gasped as Yun's form began to shift—his arms elongated into sinewy, clawed appendages. With a swipe, he deflected Kael's assault, forcing the Zorrak scion to retreat.
Kael gritted his teeth, vanishing into thin air. Gasps filled the arena as he reappeared behind Yun, striking with uncanny precision. But Yun was ready. His form shifted again, this time sprouting armor-like scales that deflected the blow. With a counterattack, Yun struck Kael's shoulder, sending him sprawling to the ground.
The match ended swiftly after that. With a final transformation, Yun became a towering wolf-like creature and pinned Kael down. The referee declared Yun the victor, and the crowd erupted in applause.
---
The second match was between two girls: Hina of the Mandren Clan and Aya of the Ogurachi Clan.
Hina, a tall and sturdy girl with her hair tied back in a simple braid, wielded a longsword with confidence. Aya, smaller in stature but no less intimidating, had an eerie presence. Her dark robes were adorned with demonic symbols, and faint, otherworldly whispers seemed to follow her every movement.
The referee signaled the start.
Hina charged forward, her sword slicing through the air. Aya stood her ground, raising a hand as dark tendrils of energy erupted from the ground. The tendrils lashed out, forcing Hina to leap back and reassess.
Aya smirked, summoning a demonic hound that leapt toward Hina. The Mandren scion met it head-on, her sword cleaving through the creature in one powerful swing. Undeterred, Aya summoned more beasts, each more grotesque than the last.
Despite her skill, Hina began to falter under the relentless assault. The arena seemed to darken as Aya unleashed her full power, her demons overwhelming Hina's defenses. Finally, with a wave of her hand, Aya sent her opponent sprawling to the ground.
The match was over. Aya stood victorious, her eerie smile unnerving the crowd.
---
Back in the preparation hall, Rytha watched the fights with a mix of awe and determination. He could feel the weight of the stares around him—mocking, judging. But he refused to let it break him.
As the crowd roared for the next match, Rytha turned his gaze back to the stands, searching once more. Somewhere among the faces, he knew his mother was watching. And he would prove to her, and to
everyone else, that he was more than the verdict handed to him.